Memories
by ClarityAnnDale
Summary: Harry has taken a trip down the memory lane on this rainy day. Then Draco steps in through the Floo. One-shot Drarry


Memories

**Harry has ****taken a trip down the memory lane on this rainy day. Then Draco steps in through the Floo. ****And then suddenly, the depressing thoughts are gone and poof! Draco makes it all better.**

**Oh and the disclaimer. I have no witty way of expressing it. I do not own Harry Potter. All credits to J.K Rowling.**

The rain was beginning to sprinkle and the grey stormy clouds above reflected Harry's mood. It was warm and toasty inside; the Floo fireplace was blazing, its flames dancing in the ashes.

But Harry wasn't feeling warm at all. He felt as if there was a Dementor near him that he just couldn't get rid of, which took away all the warmth, leaving him feel cold, dejected and alone.

Hermione and Ron were in the corner, snogging each other's lights out, Ginny was sitting nearby and reading a book after failed attempts to make conversation with him and the twins were playing Exploding Snap on the floor.

He was sitting beside the large panelled window, gazing into the sky, musing about how that silvery colour was the same colour as the eyes of his old rival. The wind was howling and rattling harder and harder against the glass panes as the downpour became heavier. The pounding of raindrops was almost deafening and thunder clapped as lightning sliced through the sky in quick jagged streaks.

Sometimes, he still thought of him. His sleek platinum hair and fair complexion. The cruel curve of his lips as a scathing remark was long, pale fingers gripping around the dark wood of his wand as he got angrier. That fiery expression in the depths of those mercury eyes.

Harry would never admit it, but he missed him. He missed the smirk that he had come to think of as endearing in a twisted way. He missed the way that only he could get a rise out of him. Only he could get his blood boiling and leave with his blood pumping in his ears. Over the years, as he thought over everything, he came to realise that his unhealthy obsession with that blond headed rival was not pure hatred, loathing or annoyance. It was an attraction. It was unusual to say the least, but not unexpected, as Hermione said.

He looked out the window once more. Harry's thoughts were brought to the war. Memories washed over him; a torrent of images, words and glimpses of what life was before.

Saving Draco from the thick black smoke and taunting, licking flames of Fiendfyre. Running for his life with the wind cutting at his face and tearing at his clothes. Stumbling into the Forest, into a ring of Death Eaters. And the ultimate showdown.

Dying. Yet being so alive.

It was almost a year since the war, but the memories were still sharp, still as nifty as a dagger. The aftermath of the war had taken its toll on him; it hurt so much. They won the war, but they lost Harry. The Ministry was insensitive; they asked him to be their special guest at every ceremony and forced him into the spotlight whenever they could. They pestered him to make speeches and went as far as to make a statue of him and station it in the foyer of the Ministry.

He was the Golden One in their eyes, the hero and the saviour of the Wizarding World. Sure, he defeated the Dark Lord no others could get rid of, but beneath all the glitz and glamour, was the heart of a teenage boy.

Harry hated all the attention, really, he truly did. He dreamt of a quiet life, of a happy life, but it all came crashing down with the war. His best friends were still his best friends, but their intimacy still couldn't help but make Harry feel a little lonely. Ginny still nursed her love for him, even after he had told her they couldn't get back together again. He could never rekindle the flames of the fire they once had.

He became a Healer. Everyone was surprised; they thought he would become an Auror and throw himself in the limelight and be the hero all over again but Harry had had enough. Still no one understood he didn't want the attention. Being a Healer was good, it consoled Harry and yet satisfied his Gryffindor 'hero complex'.

It saved people all the same, just not in the glamorous way people imagined. No, it wasn't like him dashing in and tying up all the Dark wizards with a stylish flick of his wand. Instead, it was him quietly tending to the wounded, and helping others back to health. It helped him a bit. Not a lot, but that tiniest little bit. It helped get rid of that regret that was always with him. Countless times had his friends told him that it wasn't his fault that people were lost to the war, but that seed of doubt kept eating away at him.

To gain, you must lose.

The Floo crackled and turned green, jolting Harry out of his brooding thoughts. Only then did he realise he was the only one in the room.

The others had left for dinner, quietly creeping out one by one and leaving him lost in his memories, staring into the blurry distance.

A person strode in through the fireplace, dusting soot off his impeccable designer pants. Harry's throat went dry and his breath caught in his throat. This wasn't… It couldn't be… What was he… doing here?

Draco.

He stared at the impeccably but casually dressed man as he dusted off a speck of imaginary dust in that haughty manner he always did. '_Old habits die hard.__' __he had said._

The two had created a tentative friendship after the war; after Harry realised that Draco was not as bad he thought. Harry still harboured feelings towards him, albeit discreetly, thinking Draco wouldn't notice. But he gave him a lot less credit, for he did notice. And Draco did like him back.

When Draco walked in, he saw Harry by himself, sitting in a large armchair by the hearth, looking incredibly woeful with a sad expression on his face. The war had been hard on him.

Then Harry had noticed him, bright green eyes wide in surprise. He strolled towards a chair and took a seat beside him.

'Still thinking about the war?'

Green eyes flashed and were casted downwards.

Harry shouldn't have been surprised by the comment, but he was anyways. Draco always knew what he was thinking and this wasn't the first time. He knew that Draco was able to read people well, but didn't know he was good at reading particularly him. Because he cared deeply for him.

Harry nodded anyways, resigned, defeated.

Draco sighed. 'What's wrong this time? Was it your work?'

Harry leaned back in his chair and laid his head on the headrest.

'Healer work was fine. But the Ministry just sent another invite to some big event celebrating the defeat of Voldemort.'

'You can't blame them that they want to celebrate the dispersion of a dark grey cloud that's been hanging over their heads for the past, what, ten years?'

'I know... It's not that. They just want me to come as the hero, so that all those people can meet the Great Harry Potter, Defeater of the Most Powerful Dark Lord. They don't actually want to meet me.'

'They do want to! You're Harry Potter!' Draco protested.

'Yes,' Harry said tiredly, 'It is exactly because I am _the _Harry Potter that makes them want to know or meetme. But I want someone to stay with the real me, the plain Harry. I want someone to get to know me, know my flaws, someone who won't judge, who will listen and lend a hand to me, not because I'm famous.'

Draco saw his chance and took it.

'Don't worry,' Draco began, catching Harry off guard with his soft words, 'because I'll get to know you, know your flaws, listen and not judge and most of all, I will always be there for you.'

And with that, his lips met Harry's.

**Fin~! Aww... Je n'ai rien à dire. I think that's how it goes. Rate and review, they're like hot chocolate! They make me feel warm, hyper and inspirational. Probably more hyper and excited than the others, but I love them! **

**~ Clarity Ann Dale**


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